Abused
by thesplitterheart
Summary: Holiday before the begining of the third year. Hermione runs away from a abusive home and meets a desperate man. And when there is the mystery of the glamour, that needs to be solved.
1. Prolouge

_Prologue_

" _ **It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace."**_

 _ **Chuck Palahniuk, Diary**_

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I raced up the stairs. I could hear the ominous steps following me up the stairs as he charged me. My lungs were screaming at me to stop, and I had problems to breath but my fear of what was to come would I stop made me run faster. I ran into my bedroom and slammed the door. I looked around in panic, searching for a place to hide. I spotted a clearing under my bed and crawled under it and placing a bunch of objects in front of me, so I was invisible for the Monster searching for me. I curled up into a ball and shut my eyes, pretending that when I couldn´t see him he couldn´t see me as well.

The door almost broke off the frame as I heard him enter my room. He was breathing heavily and grumbling with furry.

"Where are you, you worthless whore. Come out when you know what's good for you."

I pressed my hands to my ears and bit myself on my lip willing myself to stay silent. Tears ran over my cheeks but I stayed silent knowing that would he find me he would kill me.

He stomped around my room searching for me and destroying half of my room. I heard glass breaking into a million pieces.

Captivated by my fear I didn´t even realise that I had let out a loud whimper till he dragged me out from under my bed by my leg.

I began to silently cry again as he picked me up. He shook me by the shoulders and spat into my face as he shouted at me.

He raised his hand and then smacked me hard in my face, forcing me to let out a loud cry.

"You worthless piece of shit!"

He smacked me in my face again and then throw me to the ground where I landed in the pieces of shattered glass. I could feel the sharp shards of glass poking in my back.

I curled into a foetal position trying to protect myself from the hard kicks which were making me flinch and grunt in pain.

One moment later the monster towered over me and his hands were on my neck, strangling me. Only when I realised what I was unable to breathe my survival instinct made itself known. I started to scratch him in the face and at his hands desperately trying to free myself. Useless, he was too strong. My strength faded and I saw black dots dancing in front of my eyes, my bones grow heavy I stopped fighting the man who was at one point my father who was supposed to love and protect me but he had transformed into a monster straight out of a horrible nightmare.

The last thing I saw was a bright green light.

" _ **You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive."**_

 _ **James Baldwin**_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

" _ **Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world."**_

 _ **C.S. Lewis**_

When I woke it was already dark and the room was only illuminated by the moon in a dead-pale light. Laboriously I blinked several times with my eyes until I stop to see everything double and triple.

Then I closed my eyes again to make an all-around check:

Ten toes – check

Two legs – check

Ten fingers – check; though they hurt like hell. Nevertheless, I was still able to move them

Two arms – check; numb but still there

A head check; though it roared and I had problems to see clearly; and this before I even tried to get up, however, I still lived what definitively a plus given my situation.

I had problems to breathe and my mouth was dry and my body felt as if thousands of fire ants crept over my body and I was unable to do anything else when to play the observer while they consumed me slowly, bite for bite.

As long as it still hurts and I was able to whine about it was still okay.

«Difficile est satiram non scribere! »1

My voice sounded hoarse and my jaw cracked menacingly. I rubbed my chin and whimpered.

 _Fantastically, I nearly pass out here from pains, but of course, I must still get rid of a stupid saying in Latin._

I wiped the blood of my bloody lips, then curled up on the side. I panted softly after air and coiled up.

 _In, Out, In, Out. Come on breath!_

Only with difficulties, I managed to get my breath again under control. Carefully to not grab into blood, shards or vomited I hurled myself up on my knees and hands.

 _Vomit!? This sounds not at all good._

Hardly breathing I hang my head almost on the ground till the impulse abated to vomit. Laboriously, to not hurt myself further I heaved myself on the edge of my bed and clung to the scaffolding of the bed.

Once more I waited a moment till the room stopped spinning and the pain does not control my senses anymore.

Carefully, then I loosed my grip on my bed and stretched my upper top over the head; I heard quiet glass splinters falling to the ground.

 _Merde! 2_

Taking deep breaths I closed my eyes again and dropped my head between my knees and went with my fingertips carefully from the Scalp to the split ends, feeling my scalp for glass shards or other injuries, however, fortunately, was the only one what I found was a lacerated wound, nevertheless it had already stopped to bleed.

I exhaled relieved, glad to have found no glass splinters in my scalp. I supported my head on my hands and looked at the man before me on the ground.

Once again, I took a deep breath gaining control other the fear once more and lowered me then, groaning to his side on my knees.

 _Come on Mimi what is the worst one what can happen? Well, apart from the fact that he could whip the eyes open and beat me up once again._

I hold my breath when I felt for his pulse….

" _ **There is a saying in Tibetan, 'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.'**_

 _ **No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster."**_

 _ **Dalai Lama XIV**_

1 Es ist schwierig, keine Satire darüber zu schreiben

2 Scheiße


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

" _ **Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word."**_

 _ **George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones**_

 _No pulse._

 _No pulse._

 _No pulse._

As if frozen I looked at the man who had once been my father and now nothing more than a piece of meat.

He wasn't a monster I was terribly bandaged with anymore.

He was also no longer the memory of my father, whom I had loved above all and had forgiven every weakness and every mistake.

Just a dead piece of flesh, soulless, cold.

And I'd killed him. Killed him. Murdered.

I didn't even notice the tears sliding down my cheeks and falling to the floor when I realized what I had done.

I had killed a man. I was a murderer.

 _I'm a murderer. I'm going to Azkaban. Or a Muggle prison? I am a witch, but he is a Muggle. . . . . . ._

I started laughing hysterically. He was dead, but I was still alive now it was up to me to bear the consequences.

As if dazed I struggled up and staggered into the living room where I opened one of my father's Scotch bottles and took a deep sip.

 _Murderer._

I looked at the blood on my hands, which was already dried.

 _Okay, Mimi. One thing at a time. You're not going to jail. You didn't use your wand, so it wasn't registered - so no aurors. No Azkaban._

Neighbours didn't call the police either, they never did. So no Muggle prison. Even if it comes to investigation, you're underage.

No one's coming.

Slowly my breathing calmed down and the hysteria subsided. No one would come to lock me up, no one had reported the abuse, even though the teachers in elementary school had seen the bruises and the neighbours had heard my screams.

No one had ever come just because it was finally quiet and would stay that way.

When I realized the possibilities that had just opened up to me, I had to smile.

 _I am free._

Tears came again, but this time I wiped them off my face. This was no time to cry.

 _I must be careful and considerate. The communication between Muggle and the magic world is not the best, so the probability that I will be found is minimal._

I banned any feelings and tried to look at the situation clinically.

 _I need a shower, then I need a doctor, I need my passport and money, Crooks._

 _I can handle that. I'll be gone in an hour._

I ran my hands over my face. It's about time I put my life in my hands. A fresh start. Never again would I let myself be treated like that ever again. . . . .

Meanwhile, I stood at my room door again and looked up at the dead man.

Only with difficulty, I could tear myself away from the sight and I decided to take a shower in the guest bathroom.

Tried not to have to look at the dead I quickly grabbed my shower things, bandages and new clothes.

" _ **It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."**_

 _ **Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy**_


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

" _ **There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."**_

 _ **Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss**_

At the same time at Hogwarts:

Severus Snape massaged his temple and began again to count the wooden panels on the ceiling in a desperate attempt to suppress the desire to kill his superior and should this teachers' meeting last any longer he would not only slaughter his superior but also the entire college.

He grinned slightly at the thought, and then grimaced as a terrible pain shot through his body and his magic flared up.

He shrieked from his thoughts when someone hit him in the forearm. He looked sluggishly to his right and looked at his colleague Minerva McGonagall and raised one of his eyebrows.

»If you keep that grin on your face when the school year starts again, the students will find themselves in a row in the hospital. «

Severus turned up his nose.

»I have no idea what you're talking about, madame. But if this should actually be the case, it would only be a matter of luck. Fewer cretins that can wreck my classroom. Especially your lion cubs seem to have a fable for making chaos wherever they go and stand. «

»Your Slytherins aren't any better. Young Malfoy is

nothing more than a spoiled brat. «

»Madame. «

Severus voice was so cold that it ran cold on his back

»I would be most grateful if you could keep your prejudices to yourself and not bother me with it. «

Minerva grimaced

»It was clear that you are incapable of admitting that your Slytherins are not perfect, as you always prefer them. «

»Kids, kids. No need to argue. It's the holidays and you have the next four weeks off. Be at peace. «

Professor Vector grinned gloatingly

»You're like a cat and a dog. You should be careful. One of you two will soon say something that cannot be taken back. «

»Shut up, Vector. You're no better than Sibyl. «

Severus rolled his eyes and took another sip of whiskey and massaged his chest which had already contracted painfully throughout the morning and caused him worse pain than every round of Crucio he ever had had to suffer.

He tipped down his drink in one go and enjoyed the burning in his throat and the subsequent warmth in his stomach area.

He poured himself another drink and massaged his temple, while he tried again in vain to concentrate on the conversation, so he did not notice how Albus sent the college on their well-deserved vacation and only when he put his hand on his shoulder did he scare up and looked up at his mentor.

»Severus, my boy. Are you all right? "Usually you'd be the first one to steam off

here. «

Just as he was about to give an answer, everything inside him contracted. His bones were burning, he couldn't breathe and his vision was blurring.

»Severus. «

He felt someone grab his shoulder and shake him, but he was unable to answer.

»Severus. Can you hear me? «

The last thing he heard was the worried voice of his mentor.

The next time Severus woke up it was already dark and the pain gave way to a dull throbbing.

Laboriously he sat up and drove through his dark hair. When nausea had subsided, he carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

At this very moment, however, Poppy Pomfrey came in.

»Oh, no, my dear. You stay put. «

»Poppy. «

Growled Severus

»Don't touch me or I'll remove your hand permanently. «

»Are you aware of the horror you have caused me, young man? And not just me. You should have seen Albus when he came here with you. The poor man was beside himself. That's not good at his age, I'll tell you that. «

Severus, who, although reluctant got back to bed, stuffed himself with a pillow behind his back.

»What actually happened? «

»We can discuss this when Albus arrives. He asked me to get back to him when you wake up. Now eat something, you need the strength. «

With these words, the nurse placed a tray with soup in his lap.

Even though Severus preferred to put the nurse in her place, his growling stomach thwarted his calculation and he silently went after the soup.

When Severus was ordering seconds from one of the elves on duty in the hospital wing, Albus Dumbledore entered the room.

"Severus, my boy. Am I glad to see you awake again. You wouldn't believe what I cared about you. Don't you ever do that to me again. I'm an old man and I can't take this stress as well as I did then I was younger. «

But Severus just gobbled up his food. Only when the plate was empty did he answer.

»I've been telling you that for years, old man. Get yourself a tombstone. «

»I'd rather leave that to you, and who knows, maybe I'll come back as a ghost and keep you company in the long run. «

»Don't you dare. . . «

At that moment Poppy came in and the two men turned to the Medi-Witch.

They both asked the same question: What had happened?

»I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly what happened. What I do know, however, is that someone is tapping into Severus' magic. I can't tell you exactly how someone does it, but I know that he or she doesn't have an exact plan how it works because otherwise you would either be dead or you wouldn't have noticed it. Which is the real problem, however, that your magic is still being tapped. Not as extreme as this afternoon, but still strong enough to affect you. The appetite, the dizziness and also the use of magic should be harder for you. At least until we figure out how to fix the problem. «

The two men had listened to the Medi-witch with concern. Accessing someone else's magic usually had something to do with blood magic. Usually one tied a witch or magician to oneself in order to be able to fall back on the magic of the other at will. However, this only worked in one direction, which usually led to the death of the one who donated the magic, mostly involuntarily.

However, there was another alternative. In old pure-blood families, the children made a covenant with their parents shortly after birth, so that if something happened to the child through the magic of one or both parents could secure the child's life. Depending on how strong the bond between parents and child was, this bond also made it possible that you always knew where the child was and how it was doing, if the bond was particularly strong, it was even possible to communicate telepathically with each other and to convey memories similar to snapshots of each other.

Concerned, the three remained silent for a moment, then Albus said.

»I don't think its blood magic; these rituals are particularly painful to the donor and always leave a mark. «

Albus looked Severus firmly in the eyes

»That leaves only one conclusion. You have a child and it consciously or unconsciously taped into your magic and as it did I would dare to say that it did this to save his or her life. «

With trembling hands, Severus ran his hands over his face before looking at Albus and Poppy in horror.

»I'm sure I'd know if I had a child. «

Poppy grinned amusedly

»I wouldn't be so sure. I don't even want to know what you've done in your Savage Years. Maybe there was a one-night stand and when she realized she was pregnant she had no way to reach you.«

Horrified silence.

" _ **People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain."**_

 _ **Jim Morrison**_


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

" _ **Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."**_

 _ **J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire**_

Whimpering, the young girl pulled her clothes from her body disgusted by herself before taking a shower with hot, boiling water.

She exhaled with relief. The hot water in combination with the alcohol she had drunk helped her to relax and even if it did not make the experience better, it did help her to feel not so dirty anymore. She gently massaged the hair ampoule into her hair and enjoyed the rose scent that was in the ampoule and rinsed it gently out as she gently massaged her scalp to relieve the headache.

The water turned pink and Hermione had to suppress the gag reflex that came up when reality began to report back.

Moaning, she reached for a washcloth and started scrubbing herself off in the hope of feeling clean again. Disgusted with herself, she scrubbed herself until her skin was red and bloody and even then she could not bring herself to stop and she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed but it did not help. The harder she scrubbed to free herself from the violence and humiliation she had been subjected to and she still felt helpless, and from moment to moment dirtier.

Dirty, ugly, stupid, undesirable, worthless and nauseating.

She still felt his hands on her body and the insults that hit her so hard still sounded in her ears.

Sobbing, she sank to the ground and pressed her hands on her ears as she prayed to God and all that existed between heaven and hell that someone would come to relieve her from the pain that burned into her soul.

She wished for nothing more than a loving and protective embrace that would protect her from the cruel world but nobody came.

She couldn't remember the last time someone embraced her just for the sake to make her feel better.

It was like she was burning from the inside out and there was no one to stop her from destroying herself.

No one had ever come and no one would ever come to save them.

All they saw was the Mudblood. The know-it-all. There was nothing you could say that would make people turn away from you faster when talking about schoolwork . Nothing was easier than distracting from yourself, with friends like Harry who already had enough problems with the image of the boy who survived and the relatives who were unable to see what a great nephew they had. Brave, loyal, steadfast, sensitive and helpful. They saw his magic as something harmful as something dangerous, but that was not right.

It only made him special, but they denied him the desire for his own family, which they could have been, if only they could have discarded their dislikes.

But they were trapped in their prejudice burdened world.

Then there was Ron, the second youngest who only ever got the worn clothes of his brothers, who was always overlooked when there were the twins who always attracted everyone's attention.

Also his broom and his pet "Scabbers" were only passed on.

So driven by his desire to be known for more than the youngest male Weasley, he overlooked that he was already about to become his very own person.

Ron who lacks magical talent and always felt the desire to prove himself and who nevertheless proved his courage again and again be it in real magic chess or when he followed Harry despite his fear of spiders in the Forbidden Forest.

Or Ginny the nestling in the family and also the only girl who had gotten everything she wanted from an early age, with her obsession for Harry that she probably would never get rid of.

Slowly the panic attack subsided. Her heartbeat calmed down, it was easier to get some air and her vision was clear again.

Hermione struggled to get back on his feet and staggered out of the shower cubicle.

With trembling fingers, she grabbed one of the soft dark towels and carefully dried herself, shrugging repeatedly when she came to one of the bloody scrubbed places.

When the nausea started this time, she was not able to suppress it and just managed to stumble to the toilet and vomit.

Vomit and blood.

Laboriously she pulled herself up by the sink and washed her mouth out with cold water, then ran her hand over the mirror and freed it from the steam that had deposited on the mirror to catch a glimpse of her reflection.

She froze when she saw her reflection.

A chapped lip, a black eye, sunken cheeks and dark rings under her eyes, the last time she slept well had been at Hogwarts.

Her teeth weren't too big anymore, that was the first thing that caught her eye.

Black straight hair that hung to her waist and stuck wet to her body instead of caramel brown curls.

Pale snow-white skin instead of a light tan.

Amber eyes instead of grey-brown eyes.

Shocked, she shrunk back and the blood froze in her veins.

 _What had happened?_

Without losing another thought, she tied her hair together and stormed into her room.

Only not thinking, thinking would lead to doubt and fear and self-hatred and then she would never manage to leave this hell on earth.

Ignoring the dead man on the floor, she put on underwear, hoodie and jeans, then pulled a bag out of her closet and filled it with clothes, everything that was an connected to Hogwarts or magic in general, her cell phone and laptop then she went into the living room to the safe and with a quiet whispered

 _"Alohomora"_

When the vault that had been set into the floor opened she took the money, her passport and birth certificate, then she locked the vault again and pulled the carpet back over it.

In the hallway she put on boots and a dark raincoat, then pulled the door behind her into the castle and looked down the street.

Relieved, she realized that no one was visible.

Then she transformed and sneaked away on silent paws.

" _ **No two people are exactly alike; everyone is unique. Even identical twins, who originate from the same fertilized egg and hence have identical heredities, differ in significant ways. This is true whether they are reared in the same or different environments. On the other hand, in certain respects everyone is similar to everyone else. Despite differences in heredity, experiences, and culture, people share certain physical and mental qualities that distinguish them as human beings. Thus, we are both unique and similar, possessing a complex set of physical, mental, and behavioral characteristics that identify us as human and endow us with individual personalities"**_

 _ **Personality Assessment . Seattle: Hogrefe & Huber.**_


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

 _ **After one has been in prison, it is the small things that one appreciates: being able to take a walk whenever one wants, going into a shop and buying a newspaper, speaking or choosing to remain silent. The simple act of being able to control one's person.**_

 _ **Nelson Mandela**_

Azkaban:

Azkaban. A word that made every rational wizard run a cold shiver down his spine. Everyone knew the legends about the cruellest of prisons, which lay well hidden somewhere in the rough waters of the North Sea. Well protected by impenetrable fog that let in, but not out again and had already become an odyssey for every sailor who had not been sure of his goal and had found a wet premature death.

But sailors, like cowboys, preferred to leave this world in their boots, preferably on their ships with their followers as backing.

Azkaban, the safest prison in the magic world, which housed a multitude of criminals and slowly but surely acquired the minds and personalities of its inhabitants and made sure that if they ever made it and left this place they would not recognize or be recognized by their mother and father.

Azkaban was feared, apart from the mists that led men to their deaths similar to siren calls, also because of the dementors, which soulless creatures, whether prisoners or guardians, guilty or innocent, robbed you of your mind and feelings. First the warmth disappeared, then you lost your positive memories, which gave their very own comfort in such a place and then, if nothing else remained they robbed you of the mind since they hungered for something that should be denied to them forever.

Dementors. The large figures, completely wrapped in a black hooded coats, which glide up without any noise and spread a numbing cold that goes through marrow and leg and covers everything in darkness as one usually only knows it from the nightmares. Occasionally one of their pale, skeletal slimy hands appears under the mantle, but as a rule, just like her faces are hidden by their cloaks. The hoods of the coats also cover the throat with which the dementors inhale greedily and rattling. Not only do they breathe, but they also take away all happy memories from magical and non-magical people around them. The only thing that remains are terrible, agonizing thoughts and experiences.

Even if no one in their right minds would confess, many of the prisoners who were slowly vegetating here would not be averse to a kiss from the dementors if it meant the end of their tortures.

The kiss the dementors gave when they lifted their hoods and sucked the soul out of their victims' mouths so that their victims are shadows of themselves without personality, motor skills or feelings.

In one of these cells, which consisted of Two Rock Walls, an open gorge into Death and an old Rusty Cell Wall, a man was trapped on the verge of insanity. He had lost track of time ages ago, for here in the forecourt of hell days and nights were as equal as two sides of a maple leaf. He was emaciated to the bone and when you looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but infinite horror which he had experienced. If one asked him questions, it would not be possible for him to tell his name, the names of his parents and friends had also slipped away from his mind through time. It was also hard for him to remember and tell why he had landed in this hell on earth.

He stood at the edge of the abyss, but still something held him back to flee into the arms of death to find salvation there, if not forgiveness after all.

What held him back was a child he had not seen for so long and whose cries he had not heard for so long. It was not possible for him to say why this boy was so important to him and why everything in him cried to find this boy and to protect him with his life.

The boy's name had long since slipped his mind, just as what he looked and felt, but this boy was the reason this man who had nothing more to lose dared to rebel one last time.

Because he knew that this boy was in great danger because the rat was still alive.

And even if it meant his death, he could not bear the thought that the one who had once been a friend had dared to commit treason against his friends, the order and everything for good standing.

No, one last time he wanted to make justice prevail just as he had sworn so many years ago.

One last time. . . .

Taken together for the sake of all, he reached for the only magic that lay deep in his inner hiding place and which nothing and nobody in the world could stop, one did not know precisely that someone possessed it and never had anyone even a word about the secret of the man and so it had remained to him as only refuge.

Where it used to be a fluid and painless transformation, it now came only gradually.

First black floppy ears, then a black tail, four paws, the legs and finally the trunk.

A felt eternity later stood at the place where the Azkaban prisoner Sirius Black, convicted murderer had previously served his sentence, a large black dog, who, just like his old ego, was on the brink of death, but unlike on two legs it was much easier for him to resist the influences of this prison.

Driven by his own desperation he mobilized his last powers and slipped through the bars that would have cut him deep into his flanks at the beginning of his imprisonment, but now only slightly chafed up his skin.

Past dementors who robbed memories, guards covered the prisoners with the crucio, broke their bones, spat on them and maltreated them as well as prisoners murdered the other prisoners and raped them.

Here only the physically strongest survived and where it would have been considered a punishment in other prisons, solitary confinement here in these walls was a blessing that one appreciated the longer one sat here.

Although there were, as in other prisons, different blocks in which one was accommodated depending on the seriousness of the crime, everyone was aware who had even a single spark of mind that life had changed forever and there was no way to become again the person one had been before being brought into Dante Alighieri's vicious circles.

But Sirius did not stand still. The horror that came daily upon the prisoners here had long ago become everyday and so he closed his mind and let the instincts of the animal dominate, which simply walked past all the gray and only perceived the smells that spoke of torments that went far beyond what the human mind was prepared to comprehend and process.

And so it came that Sirius only again became master of his senses when warmth hit him. For a tiny moment he realized he was about to escape this hell. He had managed to get on the only boat that once a month set course on Azkaban to provide the guards with everything they needed to make their lives pleasant and to buy for money.

But now was not the right time to celebrate his victory, for he was still in danger of being discovered now, it would not be long before the guards found out that he was an Animagi and if they found out they would stop this gift and then he would be at the dementors' mercy for prosperity and decay.

Hey!

Now was not the time to panic. What he needed now was a hiding place.

His nose pressed against the planks of the ship and always paying attention to the smells that hit him, he went deeper and deeper into the interior of the ship.

The smells threatened to overwhelm his senses. It was the first time after a decade that it was something other than death, fear, violence and decay.

But his survival instinct triumphed and he kept control of his senses and when the boat left for some time Sirius Black was on board ready to take up the fight again.

He had survived Azkaban, there was nothing left to bring him to his knees.

 _ **We don't create a fantasy world to escape reality. We create it to be able to stay.**_

 _ **Lynda Barry**_


End file.
